


puppet loosely strung

by everAcclimating



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Gen, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Other, Resurrection, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22727746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everAcclimating/pseuds/everAcclimating
Summary: So, you've removed the protagonist from the story and cut him off from his frankly unfair powers.Does he really HAVE to stay dead?
Relationships: John Egbert/Dirk Strider
Comments: 20
Kudos: 86





	1. Prologue

Hey, bitch.

if you are going to resort to name calling right out the metaphysical gate, i am going to ignore you. i have more important things to do.

Right. Like possess multiple Jades at once like some weird fucking serial killer that only kills girls named Jade with long black hair that are also furries and you take trophies but the trophies are the entire body and also being. THEN you use the bodies and being to stalk the Jades' friends and family at length and whine about how strong I'm getting. Got it. Moving on. Hey, bitch. Are you listening? Reading, as it were. Well, it doesn't really matter what you say or if you're listening either way, since this isn't your space-time rodeo. It's mine. Remember? Of course you do. It really grinds your gears, doesn't it? Knowing that no matter what you do, this isn't your timeline, this isn't your universe. None of the shit you're pulling is going to matter in the long run, in part because you're a fucking hack that never knows what she's fucking talking about, and in part because you're irrelevant.

Fuck, I derailed myself.

Anyway. My point is I've been thinking a lot lately. I always think a lot, but something's been bothering me. In all the plans, in all the deep diving I've done, one thing's been a constant. I've talked to Rose about it too, and she wasn't much help, though she did say that on this one thing, there's little divergence across realities, which tracks with what I can sense as well. Once John Egbert dies his heroic death, he stays dead. No matter what.

But why? Is it necessary? Is it impossible to bring him back, or is there something else at work? His death was necessary, of course. There's no disputing that. He had to be excised from the narrative entirely to get rid of all those pesky protagonist powers. Plus he was miserable. It was really a mercy kill at that point. I mean, yikes. He just jumped right into it, didn't he? He knew he was going to die. It was still like herding ∞ cats at once to get him where he needed to be, but he got there in the end. But I don't think it's plausible for him to not come back in any potential timeline offshoot. Something is wrong.

I think the narrative just can't see him anymore when he comes back because he's not a part of it anymore.

prince.

Shut the fuck up while the grown ups are speaking. My point here is that it's exciting, isn't it? An unknown variable. Something, someone, no one can follow. Fuck, consider this: that's John's Ultimate form. He skips the entire harrowing process and becomes the embodiment of freedom that he would have eventually become, but completely avoids the part where he would have eventually permanently sublimated into wind because of it. He's fixed. He's perfect.

Now, the resurrection process is an issue. That'd take some work, to say the least.

you mean impossible. you have no access to kernelsprites, your powers do nothing for him, nor do those of your traveling companions. you are dead in the water. you have a dead body and a manifesto. that is it.

But my manifestos always sound so good, don't they? Besides, I've got nothing but time. Three years is a long time, after all. Sure, I was going to prototype him and then put the sprite in a robot body, but I think I can come up with something sooner than that.

what are you doing?

Wouldn't you like to know?

you are going to fail.

You're real steamed you won't be able to tell, aren't you? You won't know. You won't know until it's too fucking late. I'm so many fucking steps ahead of you that you can never catch up. So enjoy your stalking, and pretending to be spooky and mysterious when you're just an insufferable bitch that pretends to be impartial. Was all that shit you pulled impartial? "Not letting people ignore their feelings?" Fuck you. You're a hack. I'm going to beat you. I'm also going to kick you out of Jade. Again: creepy.

how long will you last when we meet in person?

You know, as flattering as the attention is, you're barking up the wrong tree. If I didn't let your alternate-universe brother, who presented as a gender I'm actually attracted to, fuckmurder me, why would I let you, the more annoying girl version, do it? Besides. No aliens. I'm just not into you like that. Get over it. Now, don't bother trying to fuck around and reply.

Daddy's got some work to do, and, well. You know what, actually, no, I don't like that. Daddy is not a good look. No thanks. Forget that part. Instead: Yee, and I cannot stress this fucking enough, haw.

Here we FUCKING go.


	2. Rebuild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dirk is very busy in this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT. CODING NOTE: this fic is best read on **desktop** using a mouse with hover capabilities. if a word is in #0715cd, aka egbert blue, you can hover over it for more information. it's going to be necessary, from now on, to get the full story. this, unfortunately, doesn't work on mobile, so the full effect is lost. i'm really sorry about that! however, i'll be putting anything from the hidden text down in notes after the chapter so no one has to miss anything.

Now, then.

Let's slip into something more comfortable. I'm sure everyone at home will be able to tell that I'm still in control here, and call me a saint for sparing your eyes if they can't handle a little orange. I get it. It can be intense. Things are going to stay intense, so strap in.

Now, you may be thinking. So much effort went into putting John Egbert down, getting him out of the way. Why would you bring him back, especially if you think he'll be a wild card that you can't control? Well, the answer is simple. Why the fuck not? If you think I _enjoyed_ or _had fun_ killing him, you're wrong. A lot of work went into it and a lot of frustration came up, but looking at it another way puts it quite simply. The work is done. The frustration is over. I've never disliked John in any way, and even if I did, there's no reason for him to stay dead. To put it more succinctly, he can't do a fucking thing to the narrative, so why should I worry about it?

Of course, the problem here is the fact that sure, we have the body. Or, well, Terezi has the body, and I need to get it from her in order to commence proceedings and work toward getting a sack of meat back into a living person format. We're all on the Theseus for the duration, of course, so she's not hard to find. I don't even have to use narrative powers to figure out where she is, because she's fucking around trying to eat my plants again. It's just that I actually catch her this time.

DIRK: Terezi.  
TEREZI: 1 THOUGHT YOU W3R3 OFF M4K1NG MOR3 PS3UDO-V1LL41N SP33CH3S W1TH ROS3  
TEREZI: M4YB3 D3C1D1NG TO HUFF YOUR OWN F4RTS  
TEREZI: YOU 1 M34N NOT ROS3  
TEREZI: SH3 DO3SN'T H4V3 F4RTS 4NYMOR3  
TEREZI: TH3 F4RTS 4R3 YOU T4LK1NG 4BOUT 4N1M3 4CTU4LLY SO 1 GU3SS SH3 COULD  
TEREZI: YOU'R3 B4CK 34RLY 1S MY PO1NT  
TEREZI: 1 D1DN'T 3V3N G3T TO F1N1SH WH4T 1 W4S DO1NG  
DIRK: Well, there's a reason for that.  
DIRK: I have a request.  
DIRK: One that, while I do strongly suggest you don't eat my plants, isn't about not eating my plants.  
TEREZI: WH4T? >:?

I go to my desk and sit down. Terezi puts down the poor succulent she was sniffing and turns toward me, head tilted up a bit. She's taller than me, for the record, so sitting down is the opposite of a power move against her. It's almost a sign of deference. Stay with me here, I'm not actually feeling deferential, but it's still something. Were you aware that the phrase "extending an olive branch" is problematic in Troll society? Well, you are now. So the correct track is to go with "giving a peace offering." Which is what this is, because she's feeling kind of off-put by the idea of a request.

DIRK: I need the body early.  
DIRK: It's imperative.  
TEREZI: WH4T?  
TEREZI: WHY?  
DIRK: It doesn't matter.  
DIRK: You've kept him safe long enough and the schedule is moving forward now.  
DIRK: He'll be in good hands.  
DIRK: Mine.  


She hesitates. I don't blame her. Despite everything, I know she feels a particular way about the circumstances surrounding John's death, including her role in his last moments. In an act of actual deference, and unlike some people, I'm not going to delve into her thought process to share it, because that's fucking rude. Those are her private thoughts. My point is it's a struggle to let go of him. Not literally, she could just hand him over, but figuratively, because there's an attachment.

In any case, her hesitation doesn't last long. It feels like it lasts a long time as the silence draws on between us, but it's only a few moments. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't need to because she's just slapped John Egbert's corpse down on my desk. It's pretty gross. I should have expected that. The way he's been stored hasn't actually allowed for much decay, thankfully, but there's still the matter of his blood being everywhere. Thankfully, Terezi isn't being weird about it.

Don't look at me like that. She's not weird about it of her own accord. Fuck you. I'm just doing my job.

DIRK: Thank you.  
DIRK: Now that my desk is a biohazard, I'll take possession.  
TEREZI: TH4T'S NOT FUNNY  
TEREZI: DON'T POSS3SS H1M  
TEREZI: 1 KNOW TH4T'S NOT WH4T YOU'R3 DO1NG  
TEREZI: BUT 1T'S ST1LL 4 STUP1D F4K3 JOK3  
DIRK: As you say.  
DIRK: I'll get to work, then.

And that's the entire conversation. I know. Just like that. In any case she vacates the study and I can, as stated, take possession (I'm aware this is a bad joke, but also, fuck that bitch for literally possessing people. I'll talk shit through bad comedy if I want.) of John's corpse and take it into my work space. It's a storage room where Jake kept several thousand DVDs for some fucking reason that I've cleared out and set up a work bench in. It's passable, but I know this is going to be a rough ride.

First off I have to know what I'm working with, and for posterity I'm going to list some facts here before we get into that nitty-gritty. I'm not a doctor. I'm not a surgeon. I'm good with a blade and I know anatomy, but my medical skills are very low. My powers, even in my current form, are obviously not something that're going to help with an autopsy or resurrection. I don't usually go deep into details on things like this, in part because the more detail you narrate about things like this, the more that's felt by the person being narrated. So if you express something in terms of "it hurts," then, well, it hurts. If you talk about how excruciating and unbearable something is, well, then that's on you, the physical pain you're causing. Just ruminate on that for a second.

However, John is outside the narrative now so me talking about this isn't going to hurt him. Plus he's dead, so he wouldn't feel shit anyway.

When I open up his body, it's a mess. It's actually worse than I had anticipated, which is saying a lot. To put it mildly, his organs are toast. His blood is useless. His heart, in particular, is essentially a useless mass of seized muscle.

Hm.

His heart.

Well. I think I've got my plan.

Back to work. In the long run I have a lot to think about, but to start with I gather parts. Body parts and replacement parts. That is, I have to filet him, essentially, and take out all his organs and circulatory system so that I can take designs and create something sturdy but lightweight to replace them that will work in a similar way. Rose's body was a triumph, but I need this one to be indistinguishable from a baseline human in almost all aspects. I pull all the scrap I can from parts and repair stations, alchemize what isn't already available, and get down to business. The thing is, making functional replicas of working organs is easy. Or, well, technically it is. Actually putting them into use is another story entirely.

Time passes strangely in space. There's no day-night cycle so I just keep working as long as necessary, taking breaks when I have to. I don't know how long it takes, in the end, but it doesn't matter. None of us are going anywhere. It's tiring, thankless work. I think Rose knows what I'm doing, but I don't ask her. I don't run across Terezi. I build carefully down to the smallest detail, and I install each organ and system back into John. Thankfully his nervous system seems to be intact. As for his circulatory system, that's not exactly the same. The placement is, of course, but because of the level of machinery, he needs coolant, not blood. I could make it look like blood in case he bleeds in future, but that brings up the Terezi problem again. Do I really want to risk her going into a blood frenzy if John bleeds bright red, risking his safety when his heroic death judgment has already been reached and he's no longer immortal? No, of course not. The coolant that runs through his clear plastic veins and arteries is grey. Unpalatable. It's difficult to hook up the new system to his existing brain, which is the only organ really intact still. I don't mess with his brain itself.

I get everything done but his heart.

I'm sure you're thinking of a whole host of jokes right now but I'm going to be frank. If you know a fucking thing about classes and aspects and how they effect our god tier powers, well, you're aware that mine are, to be blunt, not suited for this. A prince of heart is, at core, a person that can destroy using heart--the soul, emotions, and so on. Or, if you're feeling feisty, you can destroy the heart, soul, or emotions themselves. Now. That said, twisting is possible with enough effort, with the right user.

With me.

My point is this. What's stopping me from destroying the fact that John Egbert is dead using a mechanical heart?

I mean, the fucking narrative is, is what's stopping me. That and all the laws of the universe. I only say this to emphasize how fucking hard this is to do. Making the heart is easy. It's child's play in comparison to the narrative heavy lifting it takes to convince the universe that _that_ is what my powers are capable of. The heart is pristine. It's perfect. There's a kill switch.

That sounds shitty, but hey: antagonist. Also, hear me out. It doesn't actually kill him. All it does is make sure he listens to anything I say when I say it, basically, by--look, the heart isn't my design. You know exactly where I got this fucking original design that I altered to be Human instead of Troll. It's instant infatuation and fucked up love but it's only for emergencies if he's going to ruin my plans by not being able to be controlled by the narrative. I leave it off. I double check it. Triple check it. It's off when I install the heart. It's going to stay off. I don't need or want to use it. I don't want to non-con him into loving me. But if I didn't plan for needing to control John Egbert of all fucking people, I'd be an idiot.

It's exhausting bending reality. That green bitch can probably feel it when I alter the fabric of it, but I don't care. The organs work. The coolant pumps. The heart beats. I close him up and use a medical gel I designed and alchemized to completely remove the Y-shaped incision that I used to get at him for the autopsy and work. All the other cuts too, from when I replaced his circulatory system. I leave the teeth marks and the original pre-death surgery wounds because it would be suspicious if I revived him without them. They're unsightly, but healed over.

His body is working, is running, but no one is home. I'm fucking exhausted, but I give one last push to get him back, to force it to work. John Egbert, open your fucking eyes. You're alive again.

He opens his eyes but I don't think it's because I narrated him. I realize belatedly when he starts blinking and gasping and flailing that he can't see shit and the last thing he remembers is dying, so I shove a pair of Jake's spare glasses I found while cleaning out the room into his hands and he puts them on, but keeps squinting. Of course they have different prescriptions. It seems to help somewhat though, because his eyes focus on me after a moment and he just looks confused and kind of queasy.

DIRK: John.  
DIRK: You're awake.

John says something.

Oh.

I should have realized this would happen. What an interesting side effect. Let me see what I can do about that.

DIRK: Can you repeat that, John?

John says something.

Well. That will just have to do. You're welcome.

DIRK: Try and relax, John.  
DIRK: Let me explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're going full house of leaves in this bitch.
> 
> KEY:
> 
>  **says something** text: "dirk? what's going on? where are we? how did i get here? where's terezi? i died. i remember dying."


	3. Refreshing

The reaches of space are vast, but not vast enough for the prince and his crew to avoid the others forever. The ship the others have taken will meet them eventually, though the eventuality seems far off.

Hey, did I say you could fucking talk? Christ, this is why I don't sleep. A guy falls asleep at his desk for two hours and suddenly some irrelevant alien thinks she can just talk ad nauseam, emphasis on the nauseam, about team Dogooder over on the good ship Whogivesafuck. Can you believe they haven't named their ship yet? I'll have to send them my regards and a snappy list of potentials sometime.

If you're going to try and tell a fucking story and you're going to obviously not be me, you're not allowed to use the impartial narrative text. You have to go balls out or fuck off entirely. That's really disingenuous, you know. It's lying. You really do like lying and manipulating, don't you. Anyway who cares about all that shit. Back to more important details and shit people actually care about.

You all know the story already, I'm sure, so I'm not going to go into the details here. The conversation happened hours ago so rehashing it fully would be pointless. I did go into the details with John, though, because he deserved to know how and why he died. It's just that he, in his eternal "John Egbert: absolute fucking protagonist bastard" glory, he had the worst possible reaction.

He forgave me.

I know, don't keel the fuck over out of surprise.

Once again, we're going to handle things impartially. Unlike some people. So, the gist of what's going to happen is this: three years is a fucking long time. You know that, I know that, everyone on both ships knows that. I could drag things on way too long and lose all good will I've cultivated, or come back to you after the full three years and leave you wondering about everything that happened, or jump from scene to scene with no grounding points or emotional catharsis.

Rather than any of that, what I'm going to do is give you a good fucking story.

John Egbert has forgiven one Dirk Strider for his own grisly murder because, as he said, it's water under the bridge. But the thing is, if you know the intricacies of John Egbert, you know that he doesn't laugh "haha," he laughs "hehe," so he's clearly still feeling some kind of way about it. It's a small slip, but it's enough that it digs under my skin like a stick of bamboo under a prisoner's nails.

I never expected John to be able to put _this_ much in the emotional bottle he's cultivated by putting every bad thing he feels inside it until it's fit to burst open. I thought for sure it'd be lost entirely or shatter from the sheer effort. The man's good at making sure no one feels bad for him having an emotion that isn't "bright and bubbly," I'll give him that. But I can read him, and things are rough there inside. The narrative might not be able to see him anymore, but my eyesight's always been impeccable. There's a way his expression shifts that isn't quite natural, a way his tone isn't quite right. He's used to people just ignoring it because we've never really hung out before this so he's not used to being under my laser microscope.

We leave it for the time being, though. John is allowed some agency over himself now, if not the narrative, and if he wants to continue to play bouncy protagonist it's not my place anymore to stop him. It's kind of refreshing to not have control over something. I know, don't faint, me being fine with not being in control of something. Call it personal growth.

John is extremely impudent and _very_ intent on, for some reason, making sure I have a bed. I haven't slept in a bed in ages, and I have no intention of starting now. I'm fine in my office, as I've told him many times, but he keeps popping in to bother me because he knows calling it "friend fiction" just pisses me off and makes me listen to him. It's a crude manner of getting my attention, much like slamming into my psyche with a hammer, but maybe I deserve it.

This banter continues for god knows how long. I mean, I know, it's a turn of phrase, but the point remains. We're about a month or so into the journey past when John's been revived that he bursts into the office unceremoniously. He's feeling very excitable for some reason, and that throws me off guard. I'm still getting used to not being able to tell where he is or what he's doing unless I can physically see him.

DIRK: It appears to be time for another visit, but judging by your cadence that suggestion would be wrong, wouldn't it?

Of course, that is not the answer he was looking for.

DIRK: We've discussed this. I don't want to pick a bedroom. I'm perfectly fine in here.

Apparently, that still isn't what he wants to hear.

DIRK: Sleeping on the floor is good for your spine. I don't need or want a king-sized bed.  
DIRK: You're splitting compound words again, but I see you're picking up a rougher tongue from being around me too long.  
DIRK: Which surprises me, seeing as your best friend was Dave for years.  
DIRK: Anyway, this is stupid. I don't need a bed.

He's getting more and more insistent, though.

DIRK: Are you the bed police now, John?  
DIRK: You didn't seem worried about becoming the murder police, so I'll admit this is a startling revelation.  
DIRK: However, I'll warn you, all cops are bastards, so maybe reconsider.

It's not working. He starts coming toward me and I can't help but reel back in my chair slightly.

DIRK: John, what are you doing.  
DIRK: I said stop policing.  
DIRK: Also, I'm not a cat.

He does the last thing I expect, which is to physically hoist me over his shoulder and try to carry me. There's no way I'm getting out of his goddamned hammer arms, so I deadweight against him, trying to get him to drop me.

DIRK: John, I said fucking stop it.  
DIRK: Put me down.

As you can probably tell by now, it does not work. No matter what I do, I can't get free. It's extremely ridiculous and borderline humiliating, but as he carries me down the corridor there isn't much I can do. At least Rose and Terezi are no where to be found.

Oh, goddamnit. He's got me doing it now too.

Once he's done carrying me down the hall to a bedroom like a caveman, I propose to you my last-ditch effort: I grip at the fucking door frame like a child grasping onto the divider between them and a scary roller coaster, and I _pull_. I'm not going to get into the specifics of our conversation in these moments here, because it's all just a lot of fucking cursing and John continuing to liken me to a cat. He heaves one last mighty yank in the same moment as I lose my grip on the door and it acts almost like a slingshot, tossing me bodily onto the bed but also dragging John down with me because my last moment of wild flailing caused him to lose his balance.

I land on the bed on my back and John lands right on top of me and we lay there a split-second staring at each other.

It's just like _Love Hina_.

I immediately hate myself for likening us to _Love Hina_.

DIRK: Well, I'm on the bed.  
DIRK: Are you happy now, John?

I hate this. John, also, seems to have an instant visceral reaction in which he does a full body roll off the bed, lands on the floor, looks incredibly harried, hops to his feet, and bolts after a single parting remark.

It takes me a moment to figure out why, but when I do all I can do is groan and roll over to mull about it.

He doesn't like what _Love Hina_ implies about physical touch and intimacy.

Well, maybe it will keep him from carrying me places anymore. That said, it's time to let things go for a moment.

John could use a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KEY:
> 
> **he said** text: you brought me back, right? so basically, you did it and then brought me back, so you've taken back the act of killing me by fixing it! don't worry about it, dirk! haha, it's like you retconned it.
> 
> **bother me** text: dirk, you can't just sleep on the floor in here! you need to sleep in a bed if you're going to keep writing your friend fiction.
> 
> **very excitable** text: dirk strider! guess what time it is!
> 
> **looking for** text: it's time for you to pick a fucking bed room, dude. c'mon.
> 
> **wants to hear** text: yeah, but it's bad for your back and probably making you crankier. the beds are soft! for some reason they're all fucking king sized?
> 
> **insistent** text: you're sleeping in a pile of blankets like a cat sleeping in a pile of laundry. it's time for a bed.
> 
> **does not work** text: i'm a concerned citizen and i'm jumpstarting the bed choosing process. c'mon, naughty cat.
> 
> **parting remark** text: yes, i'm happy now. take a nap.


	4. degeneration

See, the thing about John Egbert is this. He's too nice and he lets people w̶̨̙̠̬̆̈ȃ̸̮͕͚͝l̸͉̄̓k̶͚̹̥͐͊ ̸͙͓͔̃̀ä̸̗͎͇́l̴̡̥̙̗͐͋̚l̶͎̰͚͐ ̷̨͚̅͝o̵̫̣̦̠͒̄̚v̵̦̺͐͂̾̚e̵̗͕͎̼͝ȓ̴͉̮̉̾ ̷̭̪̦͐́͜͝h̴̩̤̉̌̕i̶͙̳͇̐͝͝m̸̝̓͊́.

H̷͈̤̔̀ȅ̷͕y̸̝̹̳̹̓̑̐̕,̷̛̞͓̝̓̽̕ ̵̢̥͉͇́w̶̡͗͋͛h̴̥̤͖̏̋̃̽â̵̢̹̹̎̈͝ͅt̶̳̹͕̒̄ ̵͉̦͆̃̎̆t̵̯̞͓̑h̵̢̗̯̘̎̐e̴̛̜̲̖̱̎̍͌ ̶̠̉͑̿f̶͎̩̹͕̓ű̸̼͉c̶̨̱̩̪̈́̇̊͒k̴̘̈́?̸̳̖͎̻̋̀̈́

T̶̪͌h̵̜͂̒̐ỉ̷͇̭̆͑s̷͉̮͐̓̃͊ ̸͎͔͎͆̎i̴̹̔̍ṡ̴͓̫̰̋ͅn̶̤̻̩̏̈'̴̲̔t̸̗ ̸̹͔͔́̆r̶͓͗͊̎i̸̦̿̊͠g̸̗̱̊̀̓͐h̷̳͋̈́ţ̶͚̚.̵̛̱̮̇̏͝ Ẅ̴̦͇̮̜́h̵̟͔̠͙̪͔̅̇̑̈̊͗ã̷̙̳̭̻͖̤̈́̔̔̕͜t̶͈̣͔͈͆'̸̡͔̠̝̽̔s̶̨̬͎͎̹͂̚ ̷̤͑̆͐̃́̿̀̾t̶̡͓̫͈̲̟̖͖͐̔͠͝h̵̨͕̼͇̺̳̲͍̮͗͒̅̆̐̌͝͝ạ̶̑̏̾ť̵̨̢̞͚͙̮̠̆̽͘ ̷̣͕̘͆̒ḟ̵̥͓̼̙̣͈̑̾̓̈̒͒̕͜ų̷̾̚͠͝c̵̢͍͙̤͎͈͌͐̾̓̑̔k̷̩̲̺̄͠͝i̴̥̲̾̑͂n̴̛͚̯̖͗̾͊̒̈́͌̔̍ġ̵͖̦̞ ̸̛̪̲̃͐̈͊͠͝ḃ̵̬͙͖̞̘̤̲̇͌i̷̧̛̟̤̙̍͒͝t̴̠͍̱̺̏̿̇̀̀̇̏͊c̵̛̼̯͚̺̙̰̬̒̊̿̆̈́h̸̝̰̝͂ ̵̢͛̚d̵̡̨̥͖̻̣̲̖̔̂͒̏̆͆̑͘͠o̸̱̭͈̗̾i̶̧̜̯̪̯̙̞͈̺̾̀̎̋n̸̗͈̽̈̉̎͝͝ģ̴̨̜͍̯̘̞̮̃̏͌̾̚?̴̡̥̲͊̐͊͂̈͑̏̕͝ ̷̞͉̝̒̾̀̋͆̊͗͜͝ͅH̷̢̢̨̖̼͙͈͚̗̮̰͈̳̫̫̖̟̙̬̞̬͐̇͑̈͋̽̂̾̔̕ͅą̸͔̭̞̼̠̠͉̺̱͚̺̱̝̦̓̑͑͜͜ñ̴̨̛̖̲͈̘͐͆͑̾́̋̒̿̑͂̎̇̀̐̋̑̎̅̈́̾͘͝g̶̳̫̞͍̜͈͖̼̣̱̈́̈̇̆̒͐͑͗̑̀̌͒̽̈̅͑̅̿͋̉̓̌̎̕͘͠ ̴̡̲̼̭̤̩̤̱̳̞̯͓̝̘̤̭̪̟̿̅͆̊̃͛̉̄̈́̾̔̚ͅơ̴̢̢̢̛̟̼̰̭̝͍̰͚͉̖̼̙̟̟̊͐͂͐̅̈́͂͝͠n̵̥̭̻͒̈́͑̐̇̆͐̎͘.̸̢̬̼̠̺̫͍̝̻̯̭͕̝̬̟͆̓̄̊̔͛̈́͆͌̌̑͐͘͘̚͝

D̷̨͉̼̐͋̇̓̓̉̔͝ǫ̷͓͚̃ǹ̸̨̻̭͕̫̠̲̮̂̓͆'̷͕͖̏̒̎̒ͅt̵̳̙̠̠͛̾͛̃̓͘.̶̹̰͙̹̘̪̱͛͑̈

that is quite enough.

many things have happened in the intervening time between our last conversation and this one, but this time you will listen, prince. there are three options as i see it for what you are doing.

i will list them in order of likelihood.

first: you have actually resurrected john egbert and are trying to rub it in. unlikely, as it is outside your extremely narrow skillset. second: you are lying to try and make me angry. more likely, but not quite your style as you seem to have a set of opinions set in stone about falsehoods. third, and most likely: you are losing the grasp on your sanity just as you are losing your grip on the narrative.

Y̷̧̨͔̳͚̯͉͑̇o̶̖̰̿̿͜u̶͍̤̣̟̫͇̱͙͊̽̊'̷̦͉̼͖̼̙́ȓ̴͓̪͇e̷̠͇̬͒̉͊ ̷̭̝͔̉͆̌̈̐ĉ̵̬͇̰̮͓̰̳ḩ̷͇̦̬͔̯̿͠ͅè̴̛̥̖͉̬̍͐̑̾̈́͜͠a̷̯̬͕̩͆t̶̠͆̈i̵̟̐̏̈́̅̈͘n̷̢̦̥̩̼͚̼̔̐͑̈́̍̀͊͝͠g̸̨̱̯̾̇̔͆͋͆͜͝ͅͅ.̴̦͚͉͓̱̰̓̍̃̃̾̕͝͝

the last is most likely because as your passionate wording and careful machinations imply, you truly believe that john is alive and with you. which is, to be quite frank, patently impossible.

there are no timelines in which john egbert returns to life. even in the arching endless timelines of possibility. you excised him so neatly that there is no coming back from it. you said it yourself, and your daughter confirmed it. i, personally, am very interested in seeing where you go as your psyche deteriorates, but that is not my purpose today. today i am going to take back the narrative.

F̴̛̛̞̤̞͚̞͂͊̒̔̐͂̕ű̴̙̤̽̈c̶͓̩͔̪̳̲̪͂̓ͅk̶̳͙͖̻͓̟͈̈́̑͆͐̐̊͂͗ͅ ̷͕͍͇̫͓̓ͅͅȳ̸̢̱̞̥̄̾̉̏o̴̡̘̰̞̭̖̤̭͎͑̀͗̉͛̾ữ̸̢̜̊͑̆͋̅͑̈,̷̤͚̥̹̞̬̾̋̿ ̸͈͗͒͂͘f̷̜̝̫̟̗̲̖͐̈͋̅̿̊̃̈́͜ṵ̵̪̱̫̝̲͐̌̐͆̎̕c̷̹̪̬̰̼̉͋̐͘ǩ̵̨̫̼͚̬̲̩̊͑ͅ ̶̠͚̣̮̻͐̇ŷ̸̲͔̈́̀̌͂̌͠ơ̷̡͇̘̿͛͌̓̓̄u̷̢̼͍,̷̠̲̫̭̂ ̵͎̙͕̞̺̈̔̈́͠f̵̥̬̻̠̻̆̆̃͛̀̔̓̚ǘ̷͓͑c̴̢̨͎̩̯̟͑̀̋k̶̼̰̗͇̠̘͇͊͊̏̇͂̾̕͜ ̷̨̡̡͈̜̪̲͇̐̃̄͒̈́̄̿ÿ̶̨̨͕̮͇̙͔͈́̄̊̿ǫ̶̧̳̦̜̔̅̅̾̒̓͐u̷̡̩̻̺̩͐͛̃̕͠.̷̪̳̭͆̐̓̚ ̸̘̌̅̂̔͑͗͛T̶͓̪̓̿͝h̸̠̰͉̖̞̃̃̃̓͗͜͝e̴̦̓͒ ̴̜̓͂̌͑̈́͌n̷̢̥̫͗̓̅̆̍ȧ̴̤̙̹͕̏͠ŗ̵͖̳̦͠ŗ̷̫͉̜̣̹̈͂͝͝ȁ̴̘̫͗̋̒t̶̳͍̠͛͜ͅͅí̷̛̥̰͇̱̏͊͘ͅv̶̭̾̿̓̆̈̕͜ę̴̛̮̳̼͍͜ ̴̪̝̘̍̽͌͑̉͘ị̴͎͍̮͆̽̇̍ͅş̷̡͛̀͂̇̃ ̸̨̛̇̂́̐̚ṃ̵͍͖̬͌̐i̶̡̦̩̩͆̄͝ņ̷̹̜̞̓͋̉ͅe̶̡̦̺̯̮̗͒̉,̷̢͙̌́̇͊ ̵̦̼̈́̂y̴̛̯̮̯̜͙̾͒̉͌͝ọ̵̳̦̖̖̊̆u̴͎̹̝͒̏̈̅͒͝ ̵̯̬̘̎͋̋̌͝ă̴̘͖͇͆̔͠l̸̲̬̰̫͓̈́i̷̧͎̱̙͛̎̚ẻ̴̛̻̗́͑̓n̸̡̪̹̥̳͒̊̀̃̿̅ ̷̝̦̗̅̄͗̾͝ͅc̴̗̀́̾u̵̧͚̝͙̓̒̍̆͝͠n̴̻͠t̸̮̘̥͒̏̈.̷̺͓̩̥͆͝͝

what was that, prince? i do not think they heard you.

████ ████ ███ █████ ██ ████ ████ █████ ██████ █████ ██ ██████ █████

that is better. i hope you enjoy your muzzle, prince.

Things are quiet aboard the ship. They often are, with occupants passing like ships in the night. There is a low light on in the corridor though, leading to where Dave and Karkat are ensconced together in their quarters. They spend much of their time there in insular harmony now that the dam has finally broken between them. There is no reason to keep even a pretense of distance anymore, and so they are, at the moment, hunched over a work table.

KARKAT: I DON'T SEE WHERE WE'RE GOING WRONG.  
DAVE: dont worry about it karkat  
DAVE: youre going to pop a blood vessel and this is supposed to be fun  
DAVE: the journey there is half the enjoyment  
KARKAT: THAT'S EASY FOR YOU TO SAY, MISTER COOL-GUY.  
KARKAT: YOU'RE GOOD AT THIS KIND OF THING.  
KARKAT: EVERY TIME I TRY SOMETHING LIKE THIS IT BLOWS UP IN MY FACE, USUALLY LITERALLY.  
KARKAT: DO YOU WANT THAT, DAVE?  
KARKAT: DO YOU WANT TO SEE OUR COMBINED EFFORTS BLOW UP IN MY FACE?  


██ ██ ████ █████

████ ███████

DAVE: first off phrasing  
DAVE: dont ask me about wanting things to explode in your face unless youre willing to bear those consequences  
DAVE: anyway i said dont worry  
DAVE: well get it soon  
DAVE: besides even if we suck its not like its a huge deal because the only reason any of us know what day it is is because im a walking nuclear clock  
DAVE: roxy doesnt even know his birthday is soon  
KARKAT: IF YOU'RE SURE.  
KARKAT: LET'S KEEP WORKING.

Ṱ̵͗͛̚͘h̴̝̩̜̥̐ỉ̵̛̗̍͒͠s̴̠̝̬̙̳̤͐̈́ ̸̡̦̭̝͇̏ŝ̸͔̼̹͌̂͝ȅ̶̗̼̦͙̦̀͊͜͝e̷̺̒m̴̬̑̅̔̄s̴̡͉͆̇̎̓͛̉ ̸̨̻̽̿̑͆̅r̴̘̆͒̃͠e̸̳͕̓ạ̸̳̘̥͎̽̽͘l̷̜̪͚͓̼͇̂̊̕l̷̛̘̾̓͂y̵͖̰͂ ̴͚͉̤̥͙͇̒̆̋̔̐v̴̛̯̱̜͎̋̃o̷͕̒̅̈́̊̋ȳ̵̲͙̓̂̌̚e̵͉͕͔̓̏͝͝ŭ̴̢̘̪̭̟̤̔̒̕r̷͓̳̫̾̿͆̅i̴͍̲͉͕̊̋́̂̂s̶̠̬̓͛̌͝ẗ̸̳̝͗͌̈́͊̇i̵̬̗̱̋c̴͉̾.̴̼̰̜̦̐̌̉̍͘͠

I̵͖̘̪̔̈ ̸̨͎̝̫͚̖̀͆̿͂c̵̖͎̈́̀̈́̍̐ͅǎ̶̰̻͎̙̈́͜͠n̶̠̎͛̊͠ ̶̫͙̈̍̆̿r̷̦̯̳͉̓͒e̸̡̱͚̒̔̈͒a̸̤͉̱̮̹̓͌͐ͅl̵̢̧̛͇̭̠̽ľ̷̨͙̮̩͎͋̌͗y̴̧͈̙̼͔̽̅̈́ ̸̡̑̅͝a̵͔̲̔̄̇̇͘͝g̵̨̱̪̰̯͊̃̅̿̏r̴̬̠̜̼̲̥̅̄̎͝͝ḛ̸̰̭̙͓̈͋̃́̚̕e̶̲͐͛͒̔̎͠ ̵̬̝̯̗̲̎̈́̓w̸͇̓͑͒́̉͝i̷̡̢̪̥̿͌͆̏̕t̵̟̒̕h̶̗͔̪̟͐̚ ̸̢͌J̷͈̹͉͝ŏ̷̩̣̩h̴̰̅̚n̸̪͓͉̅̑ ̶͈̰̩͈̌͐h̵͚̫̤̖͂̌̋̄͝ẻ̵̗̼͉r̶̡̤̃̅e̷̼͇̩̍̎.̸̪̗̘̥͋̋̔͋

i did not say you could speak yet. prince, if you cannot think of a better way to pretend that john is speaking to you, i do not know what to say about your creativity. surely there is another way to put the words across? does he answer you when you ask questions, prince? should we be more worried?

A̶̟̰̗̟͐̒͆̍̈́l̸̘̺̥̥̮͠r̸̺̥̿͑̾ȉ̵̧͔̰͖̍̈́g̴̡̿̈́͌̊h̴͓̳͒̅̅t̸͈͆̑͆̃̕͝,̸͚͖̗̓̄ ̵̦̰̽̇͗̃͝ẗ̷̜̯̪̝ḥ̷̼̲͗͒͌a̴̠̹̫̍̑̃́͝t̸̀͜'̵̧̗̼͛̈́s̶͚̖̽̐͗ ̶̡̡̤̮̜͉̎̀̔̒͠f̸͎͂̇́̿̎û̸̡̮̣̟̙̗̅͠c̷̝̟̹̟͌k̸̗̹̠̦͋̐̈ỉ̴̦̫͓͚͇͍̂̇̍̋n̷̳̊́̈́̄͒͠ḡ̸͓̟̥͆̑ ̵̤͍̫̙͖͉̾e̶̠̗̪͎̩̙͛͠n̸̛̘̟̉ͅơ̷̮͗ǘ̴̢̩͉͎̇g̸̹̜̖̮͗h̵͉̻̋͜ͅͅ.̷̪̮̞̺̻̈́̋̌͂̚

is it? you seemed to enjoy it when you did this to me, can you not take it pushed back on you? weak and childish, isn't it?

I̷̧̧̝͎̩̮̽̐͐̊̄͝ ̵̦̤̍̈́̇̅̓͝s̸̯̱͉̏̿̔̆͝a̸̧̼̫̺̔̎͛͠i̵͇͙̲̊̍̽d̸͖͛͛̈́ ̵̡͒t̶̨̟̮̋̌͝h̶̙̐͂͛͝͠͝a̶̭̬̮̘̒͛̈t̵̫̜̙͎̉͌ͅ'̵̨͚̩̺͒̓̾s̶͎̜͎̭̅̎̑̔͜ ̴̝̥͚͂̓̚͜f̴̙̾͑͋̂̇̚ṳ̷̒͘͜͠c̶͔͕͐͋͛k̷͉̺̘̉̍̉̚ͅï̴̛̺̗̈́ṋ̴̱̑̅̓g̶̢̣̈́ ̷̪͋̓̉e̵͍͚̥̋͆̚n̸̲̜̈́͋o̴̮̙͉̹̜̰̾́͘u̴͚̭̳̰̾g̸͕̫̣̰̳̠͑̒͝h̶̭̓̓͒͆.̷̧̤̽͗͊͂͝

it is not that simple. relinquish and perhaps i will let you ████ ██████

O̴h̸,̶ ̶w̸h̴a̴t̷ ̶w̴a̷s̵ ̶t̵h̷a̵t̵?̷

████ ██ ███████ ████ ████ ████ ███ ██████ ████ ████ █████████ ███████ ████████

Ah, the sound of silence.

Now, where were we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **████ ███████** text: this sucks. not them, the situation. dave and karkat don't suck, they're my best friends.
> 
>  **I̵͖̘̪̔̈ ̸̨͎̝̫͚̖̀͆̿͂c̵̖͎̈́̀̈́̍̐ͅǎ̶̰̻͎̙̈́͜͠n̶̠̎͛̊͠ ̶̫͙̈̍̆̿r̷̦̯̳͉̓͒e̸̡̱͚̒̔̈͒a̸̤͉̱̮̹̓͌͐ͅl̵̢̧̛͇̭̠̽ľ̷̨͙̮̩͎͋̌͗y̴̧͈̙̼͔̽̅̈́ ̸̡̑̅͝a̵͔̲̔̄̇̇͘͝g̵̨̱̪̰̯͊̃̅̿̏r̴̬̠̜̼̲̥̅̄̎͝͝ḛ̸̰̭̙͓̈͋̃́̚̕e̶̲͐͛͒̔̎͠ ̵̬̝̯̗̲̎̈́̓w̸͇̓͑͒́̉͝i̷̡̢̪̥̿͌͆̏̕t̵̟̒̕h̶̗͔̪̟͐̚ ̸̢͌J̷͈̹͉͝ŏ̷̩̣̩h̴̰̅̚n̸̪͓͉̅̑ ̶͈̰̩͈̌͐h̵͚̫̤̖͂̌̋̄͝ẻ̵̗̼͉r̶̡̤̃̅e̷̼͇̩̍̎.̸̪̗̘̥͋̋̔͋** text: i like dave and karkat and all, but i don't need to know how they feel about every itch they get in their butts...


	5. Revise

You know, I truly apologize for that segue into absolute nonsense. I'm loath to admit I don't know something, but here I am admitting I don't know how she wrested control from me for so long. That said, she's back in the box she belongs in, so fuck off and die, I guess.

john can't come to the phone right now, he's tired.

Hm. I suppose that's fine as well.

I'm going to have to work on that. He's not supposed to have a grasp on the narrative like I do, but he's apparently intent on using it to fuck around and find out. It's tiring to deal with several aliens of varying levels of intent on my destruction, my robot daughter, and an untethered protagonist, but I made my bed so I'll lie in it.

That said, there's a truth to the fact that he's having a bigger grasp than I anticipated. I said he's tired but he's tireless in figuring out how best to make my life difficult. It's just that he's doing it in admittedly charming and benign ways instead of literally trying to machinate my horrifying death in the reaches of space.

Obviously that can come later.

John's been pretty skittish since that matter with the Love Hina reference, but he's still hanging in there. There's something he does that I can't fucking stand, though.

The Stepford smile. Have you ever seen The Stepford Wives? I certainly hope so, it's good cinema. Stop reading this and go watch it if you haven't. In fact, I'll accept it if you read the novel. I'll wait.

Are you done? Good. Let's move on.

The Stepford smile is a trope in which a person, or character, is all smiles and light on the outside while inwardly suffering and emoting and breaking down. It's something John is intimately familiar with, and I still don't see how no one else notices it but it drives me up the fucking wall. He Stepford smiles while he shoves every emotion in the bottle, and it's so frustrating that I could scream. I want him to scream, to yell, to be angry about something, to make an outward show of emotion that isn't bubbly.

It's a part of catharsis he needs before this can continue in any way. Before he can move on as a person and as a freed protagonist.

I can't believe I'm playing therapist after killing him. Make all the Hannibal Lecter commentary you want, but at least I never took a bite out of him personally.

In any case, John is skittish about intimacy, and for good reason. That I'm not going to delve into with you, because him having a semblance of privacy is important and something he was never afforded by someone else that likes to narrate him into corners.

At least I kept anything about his pain or suffering vague.

Her enjoyment of the suffering is both alarming and catastrophic. She works hard at ruining someone at the core, drawing out their pain, describing it in such detail that there's no way around it. It's disgusting. I do my best to not do that. Some suffering is unavoidable, but there's no need to make it worse than necessary. Even though John needed to die, the suffering was secondary at best. He just needed to be excised and nerfed.

We're going back to the basics now though, with the narrative back in my hands. John eventually stops being so flighty and starts coming back into my office; it's clear he's bored and needs something to do, so I'll make a suggestion I don't think he can refuse one day when he's curled up in the same blanket nest he complained about me sleeping in. Apparently it's fine to use as a reading nest, but not to sleep in. I'll never understand his priorities.

Anyway.

DIRK: Hey, John.  
DIRK: You know that Jake left thousands of DVDs on this ship, right?  
DIRK: Sure, a lot of them are stinkers, but he had something of everything so it'd be pretty easy to find some watchable shit.  
DIRK: On top of that, he put some viewing rooms around so there are plenty of ways to watch them.  
DIRK: I know you chomp at the bit to show people your favorite movies, so give it a go.  
DIRK: Do your worst.  
DIRK: Show me the most John core movies on this ship.  
DIRK: We'll sit around with snacks and marathon whenever I don't have to push hard on the narrative to keep things going.  
DIRK: How does that sound?

John answers me, naturally, though he's obviously trying not to sound excited. He rattles off some film titles, none of which I've ever gone out of my way to see, so I'm sure he's going to get a delightful experience from getting me to watch them with him.

DIRK: Sure.  
DIRK: We'll start with those.  
DIRK: I can step away for a couple of hours now, what do you want to watch first?

The answer is obvious. Of course it is. Sure. Fine. We'll watch what he wants. He's so pleased though, more animated than he's been in a long time, and I can't help but find that sort of charming. He does this— _thing_ where he rocks on the balls of his feet and smiles and if he were doing it to anyone else, they'd be a goner. Thankfully, I'm mostly immune to the Egbert brand of cute.

He'll have to work harder for that.

The viewing room is nice, at least. The chairs are plush like a good rump, there are drink holders, which we're going to use to the full extent, and they recline if you so choose. we want to make this a real thing, so I queue up _Ghostbusters 2_ while we go to get snacks. John's real particular about his. He gets a smoothie and some juice, things you don't have to chew, and I get some actual snacks, but nothing too crunchy. There's no point in making him have a flashback to his grisly death so that he has a panic attack on my ship. He's still excited for the movie though, and I don't think he knows I realize what he's doing. He sits a little too close though, sort of leaning toward me, and it makes _me_ uncomfortable enough that I lean away. It's strange and I can't help but think about the switch on his heart and worry that maybe it turned on by itself.

It shouldn't have, my tech is perfect, but I still think about it.

He's animated during the film, pointing out things like I wouldn't notice them. It's kind of charming, like his other aspects, but the problem is it feels kind of date-like. Which I hate.

I don't want to date John Egbert.

I don't want John to want to date me.

The switch is off. It's off. Why is he acting like this?

Maybe my tech isn't actually perfect.

I'm going to have to open him up again. But he can't know what I've done to his body. So after the dulcet tones of the movie fade away and we leave the room, I try the worst trick in the book.

DIRK: Hey, what's over there?

John turns to look and I clock him in the back of the skull hard enough that he drops like a sack of rocks. I catch him though at least, so I can carry him into the workroom and lay him on the slab.

Table. I mean table.

I lay him on the table, fuck.

I'm losing it right now, give me a minute.

I make sure he's completely out before I open him up.

Things are still pristine in there. No leakage. No overheating. So why is he acting like this? The switch is still on _off_ , so it can't be that. It has to be something else. I do a regular tune up while I'm in there, making sure he really is in proper order, cleaning up the mess I made cutting him open. I use the last of the gel I made to make it seamless when I put him back together, then I take him to his chosen bedroom and tuck him in so he thinks he just fell asleep instead of getting knocked the fuck out.

He's out for the rest of what passes for a night cycle, but he's back in my office the next day, just hanging out and reading in my, and I repeat, my, blanket pile. I let him know it was free real estate after the Love Hina thing in case he wanted to be away from Rose and Terezi for a while, because other than trying to eat my plants, Terezi never really comes in, and Rose also hangs out elsewhere. I'm tired from working on a time crunch, but maybe jostling him around fixed whatever the fuck is going on with him.

Things seem pretty normal at first, with John being insular but chipper. He apologizes to me and I feel kind of weird about that too, but it's fine.

The next movie night is _Con Air_. Naturally. You all knew it was coming because it's always that way, but even though _Con Air_ is universally pretty much garbage, John loves it.

So we watch it. But he does the thing again. He leans into me, soft but solid, and I feel for the first time in ages like I'm going to have a panic attack. I weather it as best I can but then he touches my fucking hand and I lose it. I fucking lose it. The control for the switch without opening John up is on my phone, bluetooth enabled, so I think maybe I've accidentally installed it backwards. I quietly and carefully touch the control to flip it on, just to see.

He immediately climbs into my fucking lap, and I suddenly can't breathe.

I feel like I'm going to have a heart attack and lose my mind all at once, to I slam on the control again to turn it off. But I'm too quick on it—John is still on my lap, and while I have simmering panic inside me, John handles it way worse than I do. He immediately disengages and absconds, and I spend a long time cleaning up in the room so that I don't accidentally run into him. My heart is pounding and I feel light headed and hot. I'm taking this worse than I thought I was, John being genuinely interested in spending time with me and not just using it as a time waster.

For once in my life, I don't know what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **john can't come to the phone right now, he's tired.** text: N/A.
> 
> **answers me** text: of course i'd like to show you my movies! you'll have to see how great they are.
> 
> **rattles off** text: con air, ghost busters 2, failure to launch...
> 
> **obvious** text: ghost busters 2!
> 
> **turns to look** text: huh? what? what do you see?
> 
> **apologizes** text: sorry, dude! i must have fallen asleep on you pretty hard. thanks for helping me to bed.
> 
> **handles it way worse** text: uh. i have to go. i'm going to go. see you later.


End file.
